


Scattered Pieces

by Tainted_Golden



Series: Fractured Hearts and Shattered Minds [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, One Shot Collection, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-13 14:32:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17489777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tainted_Golden/pseuds/Tainted_Golden
Summary: A collection of one-shots related to Broken Crowns, but not canon to the actual story. Think of these as alternate, what-if scenarios. They basically rewrite certain scenes so that events happen differently. They won't make sense without reading Broken Crowns.





	1. Get Out Of My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starts at the beginning of chapter 6, "The Sorting" in Broken Crowns.
> 
> What if Harry reacted worse to the sorting hat? What if it sent him into a panic attack, in the middle of the Great Hall? What if Snape wasn't so utterly thick that he couldn't see the blatant signs of abuse?
> 
> (Also kind of just an excuse to write something a little more fluffy)

Harry could feel everyone watching him as he stepped forwards towards the Sorting Hat. It was as if he was a dying animal and they were vultures circling him, waiting for him to take his final breath. It felt like it took forever to reach the stool at the front of the hall. When he finally say down, the hat was dropped over his eyes. Now he couldn't see. This was worse than seeing them staring, now he didn't know what the people all around him were doing.

_"Calm, child."_

Harry jumped as a voice spoke directly into his head. Who was that!?

 _"I'm the Sorting Hat. Don't be afraid, it's ok."_ The Hat spoke as if hearing his thoughts.  _"Now, let's see... Plenty of ambition, and a thirst, oh yes, an overwhelming thirst for knowledge."_

 _'Get out of my head!'_ He yelled inside his mind, before ripping the hat off his head and flinging it away, hurriedly walking backwards away from the stool and the hat that could see inside his fucking mind. The teachers at the staff table were standing up sharply, the students below wide-eyed and staring. He had messed up, hadn't he? He's broken a rule and now he was going to be punished. He shook his head, almost a reflex, tears filling his eyes as he felt like screaming for mercy. He could barely speak, his throat seizing up in terror.

"No, nonononono, please-" He felt cornered, trapped, as the Professors started to walk around the table towards him. Not knowing what else to do, he quickly crouched down, hunched over himself, arms raised protectively as he was advanced upon. He was shaking, knowing he was bound to be punished for this, but not knowing how. He knew why, of course he did, he was supposed to let the hat sort him but he resisted like a stupid little Freak. How could he be so idiotic? The rules might be different here - what if he broke a big rule? What if that was one he'd be beaten for, or locked in the cupboard for, or starved for, or what if someone was going to use him like the slut he was, or - Oh god, what if they did it here, where everyone could see? They'd hate him, he knew they'd hate him, why wouldn't they when he was so utterly useless?

A man was approaching, dressed all in black, a harsh expression on his face. He was going to hurt him, Harry knew it. He felt his body go tense, the entirety of his being shaking with involuntary tremors. A hand was lain on his arm, only for Jormungand to choose that precise moment to appear, hissing and poised to strike like a cobra, out of Harry's robes. The hand retracted, the man jumping back as a ripple of gasps and whispers ran through the hall.

"I'm sorry!" Harry blurted, grabbing Jormungand before he could do anything else. "I'm sorry, please d- don't hurt me." The hall went completely silent. The dark man closest to him tensed, and Harry recognised that as anger. Shit, he should have known better than try to escape punishment like that. The white bearded man behind him, who Harry recognised as the Headmaster, looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel, he was so utterly furious. Harry, despite knowing he would probably be beaten to a bloody pulp regardless, decided to speak anyway.

"I- I-" Harry swallowed, tears gathered in his eyes finally gaining enough gravity to go streaking down his cheeks. His voice, although barely a whisper, carried loud and clear across the hushed, waiting hall. "I can be good, I promise." Then all hell broke loose.

•••

Harry had been taken away from the hall by the dark man. He stumbled over his own feet, his heart racing like a rabbits as fear overtook his senses. He was running on pure adrenaline, his legs carrying him along after the Professor even as his mind went into overdrive, trying to think of any reason he had been taken out of the hall that didn't involve a worse punishment that was to be carried out in private.

The hall had erupted into chaos right after he spoke the last word, the Headmaster and other teachers trying to calm the students down while Harry was ushered out of the room. He was now walking hastily along winding corridors and up long staircases, having to move twice as fast as normal to keep up with the Professor's long stride. He almost had to run at points, his aching muscles protesting every step. Finally, he tripped. Gasping as old wounds and bruises were jostled uncaringly, he tried to get up as fast as he could, panic clawing at his throat, tears falling quickly as he struggled to force his tired body into compliance. It was too late. The man had already noticed, turning back to him with those dark eyes that made Harry cringe in terror.

"I'm sorry- I'm s- so sorry- please-" At this point, Harry didn't even know what he was begging for. He was still trying to get up, but his shaking arms and weak legs had given up. He was going to get punished anyway, what was the point in even trying? He flinched away as the man ducked down from his impressive height to crouch next to him, one knee in the ground, the other raised. He slowly, carefully pulled Harry into his arms, and god if Harry didn't want nothing more than to lean into that gentleness, bathe in it, surround himself with it. It was a trick, of course. Kindness like that always was. Jormungand didn't attack this time, though.

Cradling him softly, the man stood up, lifting Harry as if he weighed nothing, which probably wasn't far from the truth. Harry was stiff like a frightened animal in his arms, even when he was positioned so that his head was resting on one of the Professor's shoulders, the rest of him held with almost wary caution, as if one wrong move could cause him to break.

"No one is ever going to hurt you again, Harry. I promise." Despite everything, Harry found himself wanting to believe those words. Almost needing to. They made his heart sing with an odd, hopeful sorrow that made no sense. Great sobs wracked his body, the hand on his back soft and comforting. His small hands gripped tightly at robes, and although the man was still every bit as frightening in his appearance, Harry found that he didn't ever want to let go. He held on as if this man, this dark eyed, terrifying man he had never met before was his only lifeline. Dark robes were marred by darker tear stains. Professor Snape said not a word.


	2. Too Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Begins at the start of chapter 26, "The Betrayal".
> 
> What if Blaise had arrived back at the dorm just a minute too late?

"Harry! Shit! Nonononono, wake up! Harry, you have to wake up! Please, please wake up!" Blaise could feel himself trembling. He had known it was bad, but he hadn't thought- didn't think he would- fuck, Harry tried to kill himself. He still might die. Blaise grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. Nothing. He bit his lip.

"Sorry Harry." He slapped him across the cheek, hard, desperate to get him to wake up. Nothing. Harry sat, propped up against the bathroom counter. Cold. Blaise was really starting to panic now. Harry had to wake up, he had to. He couldn't be dead. Please don't let him he dead.

"Harry, wake up, please. Fuck, please don't die, please, please still be alive." Blaise pressed his ear against Harry's chest. Nothing. Nothing but cold, dead silence. His skin was an icy pallor, his eyes unmoving behind closed lids. His mouth hung open slightly, limply, slackjawed. Vibrant crimson blood stained his arms, snaked in rivulets across the tiled floor. Tears fell quickly from Blaise's eyes, mixing with the blood to make a sickening pink colour, before it was quickly consumed, the bright red taking over. Harry was dead.

"No..." Even as the shaky word left his mouth, Blaise knew that it was true. It was horrifyingly, devastatingly true. He felt like time had stopped, his mind unable to, unwilling to, process the information that he so logically knew to be the truth. Emotions tried to keep up with the situation, but they were left behind in lieu of blinding numbness. Shock, Blaise knew. Shock, and disbelief, and desperate thoughts that this was all a dream. He knew it not to be. The details were too clear, the events too chronological and ordered for this to be a dream. So why did it feel like he was falling into some awful nightmare?

Standing up, he looked down at the horrible, mutilated corpse. He couldn't think of this as Harry. Couldn't think of this as that kindhearted, amazing person he'd just started to know. It was just a body. Just a body, nothing more. He left the bathroom, shutting the door and leaning heavily against it. His bloodied hands left stark marks over it, but he didn't care. Grabbing his wand, he cast every ward he knew upon the door. Nobody could enter until he got back.

A hiss from behind brought him briefly back to reality, out of the surreal fantasy his mind perceived this all as. That was probably an unhealthy coping mechanism. Jormungand was raising his head up off Harry's bed, looking anxious in his twitching movements.

"Harry's dead." Blaise said in way of explanation. Somehow, saying it out loud made it all too real. Sliding down the door, he clutched his head in his hands, not caring as blood got in his hair. "Oh god-" Blaise could feel himself about to have a meltdown. He couldn't, not yet. Taking what seemed like moments but could have been far longer to figure out how breathing worked, he finally got back up. Jormungand was gone. Blaise didn't know where he went, nor did he care.

•••

Jormungand felt first shock, then overwhelming grief, then hellish rage in a split second after Blaise spoke. How dare they- how dare they push his Harry to kill himself! How dare that fucking despicable Headmaster and that absolute irredeemable monster Vernon make his hatching kill himself! He set off as fast as he could, streaking out of the room and headed straight for Dumbledore's office. He would have his revenge.

•••

Blaise walked into the common room with a blank, expressionless face. He felt numb again. It was awful, like there was a hole in his chest that could never be filled. He walked straight through, past all the people who asked concerned questions he could barely hear over the buzzing static of his mind. He continued, down the corridor. Every step seemed like an eternity. He continued, only stopping to blink in surprise when he found himself at Snape's door. How did he get here so fast? The door opened; had he knocked? Snape looked impatient, with a little concern creeping into his features. "Well?" He said. Had Snape asked him a question? "Why are you here Blaise?" Oh.

"Harry's dead." He said. A simple, monosyllabic answer. No change in pitch, no variation in his voice whatsoever. It was just as blank as his mind. Those two words make Snape's skin pale, becoming almost totally white, becoming almost like Harry's skin, as he lay there, lifeless, blood running along the cracks in the floor tiles. He and Snape walked quickly back towards the dorm.

Draco was there, speaking urgently, frantically, almost yelling, demanding something. Blaise heard little but the volume of his voice, almost like when you're underwater, sounds drowned out by the soft caress of the waves. Blaise felt like he was drowning. Even so, he undid the wards guarding the door. Blood had begun to seep through the crack at the bottom.

Harry was just as still, just as limp and unsettling to look at as when Blaise left him. He was leant slightly to one side on the sinks, and as a result, his head lolled at an angle, grotesque, unnaturally stiff on Harry's thin neck. Draco screamed, running towards him, shouting, crying, begging that he wake up. It was futile. He was never going to wake.

"We need to take him to the hospital wing, and get Poppy to check him over. We need to know what killed him, and when he died." Snape said, logically. His voice shook. Blaise nodded, and while Snape conjured a stretcher to levitate him on, he grabbed the sheet off his bed, to cover him with.

"No! Don't touch him!" Draco yelled as Blaise held him tightly. He struggled, but he struggled weakly. Snape carefully arranged the body on the stretcher, the sheet on top. It didn't stop the blood from soaking through.

•••

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, you have been found guilty of knowingly placing a child in your care with an abusive household, and of condoning, encouraging, and partaking in acts of abuse upon said child. You are sentenced to the Kiss."

Blaise let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. It had been four entire years since Harry died, and he still felt so pained when he thought about it. But finally, after so long, the man responsible for all of the awful things that Harry went through was going to be gone, forever. It felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

The Dursleys had been put on trial almost instantly after the news of Harry's death had gotten out. Mr Dursley was sentenced to life in prison, and Mrs Dursley had to serve a good number of years. Their son had been put into care, and was receiving therapy for the things he witnessed and the way the overly doting parents had negatively affected his social skills. Dumbledore, however, had managed to escape from conviction for so long because of how influential and powerful he was. People simply couldn't believe that he would do such a thing.

It had taken Tom Riddle coming back to life and managing to take over the wizarding world for him to get punished for his despicable crimes. Blaise and Harry's other friends had joined him immediately, of course. There was no point in fighting for the Light. Without even considering Dumbledore, the Light was so fundamentally flawed, so unwilling to change things for the better, that there was no hope in fixing it. It was far better to start fresh with a leader who was actually looking to improve things, and who would listen to their concerns, and try to change things that didn't work. After battling in secret for years, it had come to a head. They had won, and Tom was their Lord. He has promised a better future, and now he was delivering. It would all be over for the Light soon, forever.

If there was one thing that Blaise wished he could change, he only wished Harry was still alive. It haunted him, the what-ifs, the thoughts that if he had been only a minute earlier, Harry might be here with them today. As it was, Blaise had been one minute too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this is a bit of a mess, and I'm not sure if I'm entirely happy with it, but it doesn't effect the main story, so I'm just going to post it anyway.


End file.
